


Whispered in the Breeze

by Beap



Series: His Son's Destiny [7]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-18
Updated: 2011-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-17 01:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beap/pseuds/Beap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur wants nothing more than to comfort Merlin, after all the Hypocrisy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispered in the Breeze

Merlin sat defeated, in body and in spirit. Huddled, with knees drawn and his back pressed into his cell's corner, he could clearly hear the voices across the dungeons but he vaguely followed the conversations. Gaius rambled about some superficial self-inflicted wounds, some older scars that he had treated and some newer festering ones. Finally, Gaius said, “…undetermined,” to answer Uther’s initial question, “what was the cause of her death?”

Strange and tenuous bedfellows, a king who condemned wizardry and his wizard physician, they agreed to leave her death at that decision. Undetermined. Both knew better.

When Merlin heard the king give the order, “take the body and the pyre to Witch’s Cove and burn them,” he felt the words officially end his noble challenge. Uther had won. Dreslah would be burned a witch, after all.

As the king and his entourage passed his cell to exit the dungeons, Uther stopped, walked over and gazed in at him. Not with the eyes of victory but seemed that of a war general who had suffered too many casualties of his own. "Unlock the cell," Uther ordered Arthur, standing directly behind him. “The prisoner has served his time. He’s free to leave.”

Arthur stared over his father’s shoulder and between the bars. His countenance was formal but his heart ached to see Merlin so thin and ailing. Although ordered, he hesitated, purposely slowing his eager hands or jiggle the keys in his rush to unlock the cell door. The girl’s death, Arthur somehow knew, had resolved their dispute and with his father hideously victorious. Damn their quarrel, he thought while wanting nothing more from life, at that moment, than to hold Merlin and comfort him.

Arthur couldn’t. Not in front of the entourage. Instead, he forced his head high and like the prince he was, he followed the king out.

Gaius lingered.

When all had gone from sight, Merlin looked up into his sad and sympathetic face. His own contorting with tears now running, he mumbled, begging in a sickly cry. “Please, Gaius, I want to come home.”

The old man entered his cell and helped to pull him to his feet and on into an embrace. In his wisdom, Gauis clearly deciphered the king's ruthlessness. He feared the lesson that Uther had just taught Merlin might be far too cruel for him to bear.

*

*

By order of Prince Arthur of Camelot, the royal kitchen trays arrived at the physician’s door like clockwork. Like clockwork, Arthur entered an hour later. Also like clockwork, Gaius gave his patented excuse. “I’m sorry, sire, not today. I’m sure that he’ll soon be well enough to receive visitors.”

Arthur eventually stopped asking. Still, he came. To accommodate him, Gaius started placing the return trays at the end of his workbench. Whenever Gaius was there, he heeded the prince's expression. If the food was barely touched, Arthur frowned while moping out. Half eaten, he merely nodded and shuffled away. An empty tray garnered a smile and a definite pep in his stride.

Of late, Arthur was smiling and stepping lively. The food was being eaten. He knew that Merlin was getting better. Physically, anyway. He started asking, again to see Merlin but Gaius continued to make excuses for his emotional state. “I’m sorry, Prince Arthur, but as his physician, I must request that you allow him a little more time. I’m sure that he’ll soon be up to entertaining guests.”

Arthur and Gaius understood, but for different reasons, that Merlin blamed himself for the girl’s fate. Arthur assumed, her madness. Gaius knew, her murder. Not until the small buds of spring appeared did Merlin feel the same small promise of hope. With the courage of a fragile bud braving the stormy and unpredictable weather, he finally ventured from his room.

Gaius worked at his medicine table. He suddenly smiled and moved to hug him. “I’m glad to see you up and about.”

Merlin reciprocated with a weak and halfhearted embrace as he apologized, “I’m sorry, Gaius, that I’ve been so much trouble to you.”

“Poppycock," Gaius shushed him. "All any of us want is for you to get better. Gwen asks about you constantly and Arthur comes, two, three times a day just to ensure that you’re eating.”

"I know. I recognize his footsteps," Merlin uttered as he moved from Gaius’ arms and sat in a chair by the window. “He enters about an hour after the kitchens deliver my tray. I should thank him for his generosity.”

Gaius felt his forehead and found it cool but no comparison to his demeanor, which was now a block of ice. “The weather is warming nicely and you’ll soon be out and about," he said while trying to sound optimistic. "Once you've gotten some fresh air and a little color back in those cheeks, you’ll feel much better.”

“I’m looking forward to that,” Merlin agreed with his words but gazing toward the window his posture hunched, withdrawing from the light of day. He abruptly withdrew in the opposite direction at the sound of their door opening.

“Merlin,” Arthur exclaimed while pacing toward him. Excitement glowed on his face but Merlin quickly stood, recoiling, while criticizing his approach. “Arthur, you’re not due here, yet. It hasn’t been an hour.”

Merlin's unwelcoming retreat wounded Arthur’s enthusiasm. Like a punch to his gut, he looked from Merlin to Gaius with his eyes demanding to know his criminal infraction. He splayed his hands to further ask, why the ill reception.

Gaius spoke up, aware that Merlin would not. “Arthur, I’m afraid he’s still a bit tired,”

"He doesn't look tired," Arthur rudely interrupted the same lame excuse that had prevented him from comforting Merlin since the dungeons. Denied their intimacy and companionship far too long, he snapped, “In fact, I’ve never seen him look so well rested. Even fat!” He noticed the fullness about Merlin’s face and neck. “Your time for lazing around while the kitchens bring you three meals a day is over! It’s time you got back to work!”

With Merlin standing cold and detached, Gaius continued to protest. “But Arthur, I think that he’s not ready to return, just yet.”

“I’ll decide that,” Arthur insisted while convinced that he knew how to ease Merlin's troubled mind. In the process, if Merlin needed to use his royal ass as a punching bag, then so be it, Arthur accepted. He owed Merlin as much. For Merlin’s sake, he no longer insisted but now demanded. “You’re to report to my chambers before I retire and draw my bath.” Leaving no doubts, he added, “And come prepared, to stay the night!”

Gaius went silent to his brazenly open and unabashed demand. He returned to his workbench while leaving any further protest strictly to Merlin.

Still cold and detached, Merlin simply nodded to Arthur’s obvious physical needs. After five years, they had come full circle, he thought. The prince would get a passive and servile body in his bed, after all.

Marching out, Arthur remembered why he had come. He barked one last order. “Gaius, the king demands your presence in his chambers, after dinner.”

*

*

“Enter.”

Gaius walked into the king's royal chambers, clasped his hands beneath his belly and stood at attention. “You wish to see me, sire?”

Uther looked up from his papers. He waved Gaius over with a beckon to join him at his dinner table. The offer surprised the old man. He took the nearest adjacent chair as Uther prefaced, “I’ve been giving this matter a lot of consideration.”

“Sire?”

“This tragedy surrounding the girl who died, in my dungeons. Your young Merlin has left me with a few unsettling thoughts.” Mainly his hypocrisy, which he chose not to mention.

“Merlin, my lord?”

“He reminds me of you, before time and age left us, both, comfortable in our roles. Gaius, I must admit. The boy shows conviction. Enough to make me step outside my comfort arena…”

Gaius nodded that he understood Uther’s underlying meaning. Merlin had put a bright light on his hypocrisy, as well.

Uther continued, “I’m prepared to offer a compromise. However, it depends upon you and your willingness to accept responsibility. Merlin is intelligent, granted. But I’m not ready to place such difficult decisions in his young hands…”

Gaius took a deep breath while trying to keep his old heart from pounding at a rate to threaten attack.

“…This girl was a prime example," he explained his compromise. "In cases where I see no apparent threat to Camelot, I’m willing to consider your opinion on the matter before I pass sentence. As physician and assistant (warlocks), knowledgeable in such matters (sorcery), I’ll allow you and Merlin ample time in my dungeons to ‘examine’ the prisoners to,” he concocted a reason to delay sentencing, “do a study of these strange people. Diet, water, family history, anything in common, which might explain their unusual powers. If your assessments seem reasonable, I may consider banishment to burning.”

Gaius calmly nodded to accept responsibility but his mind shouted, ‘Touché, Merlin! You have a small victory, after all.’ He couldn’t wait to tell him.

Uther was not ready for Gaius to leave. A king had such few friends. He considered Gaius his only one. Moving to his fireplace, he beckoned his lone friend to join him. “Perhaps now, Arthur can have his manservant back. He’s been so antsy, of late.” After pouring them wine, Uther started to reminisce while seeking to justify over twenty years of hypocrisy.

Gaius exhaled as he settled back to let the king unburden his conscience. The hour growing late, he resigned to give Merlin the good news in the morning.

****

Arthur sat on his blanket chest at the foot of his bed and watched Merlin move about, in and out, in and out. In, again, Arthur spoke, again. “A wise man once told me that I need to talk about my troubles or they’ll eat me up, inside.” He resorted to giving Merlin’s advice back to him. “I've learned that that wise man was very… wise.”

Merlin left, again. He continued to work in silence while lugging away Arthur’s bath water and then his tub. When he returned, gathered his dirty clothes and started to exit once more, Arthur finally demanded, “Leave them!”

Merlin stopped stoic in the middle of the room. Void of all emotions, he asked, “Then, do you wish to bed me, now, sire?”

“Merlin,” Arthur cautioned his crude insolence.

Despite the caution, Merlin continued to stand impassively holding the dirty clothes and staring straight ahead.

Arthur went to him. “Why would you phrase it like that after all that we've been through, together," he asked. He then tried to joke. "A tumble in the sheets, perhaps," however Merlin remained silent and eerily lifeless, leaving Arthur desperate for a response. “Merlin, I'm doing this for you," he tried to explain. "I spent all evening preparing myself, as well.”

Merlin remained unmoved by his admittance.

“Talk to me,” he insisted. Still no response and tired of begging, Arthur suddenly shoved his shoulder to garner a response.

Merlin simply wobbled and then bounced back to his stoic stance. Arthur pushed him, again and again, he bounced back.

“Damn it, Merlin," he shouted as he snatched the dirty clothes from his arms and flung them across the room. "If you won't unburden your mind then, your body," he insisted, using Merlin's own words, again. "I’m trying to be here for you, like you were for me when I killed that woman and child.” But as Arthur spoke, he watched Merlin's face grow grotesque with his knees collapsing. Arthur had to reach out and lock his arms around his waist to keep him standing. Fear made him yell, again. “What in hell is wrong with you? Please, talk to me!”

And say what, his twisted and misshapen face silently cried. That I killed a child, too! And mine was intentional! Unable to accept his crime, Merlin went completely lifeless, like a rag doll in Arthur's arms.

Arthur wouldn’t let him. Almost lifting Merlin, he started dragging him toward his bed. “Whether you talk to me or not," he warned, "I won’t let you escape by feeling nothing, at all!" He sat Merlin down and bowed at his feet to remove his shoes and socks. All the while, he continued to speak. “You have to face your guilt or it'll eat you up inside! If nothing else, you’ve taught me that much! And persistence! I can be as persistent as you!"

Merlin put forth a limp protest. With weak efforts, he pushed at Arthur's shoulders and head.

"You want to hit me," Arthur demanded of his weak scuffle. "Go ahead.” He raised his face and left it purposely vulnerable while he opened Merlin’s pants and started shucking them down. “In fact, I want you to! Go ahead! Hit me, if it'll make you feel better…”

“Please, Arthur, I can’t… I won’t… I don’t deserve…”

“Don't deserve what," Arthur demanded. "To feel better? You speak like an idiot, again!” He quickly discarded his own sleeping attire and returned to Merlin's clothing. Struggling to pull his jacket and shirt over his head, he insisted, “I know you tried your damnedest to save that girl but you act as though you killed her, yourself!”

Merlin flopped. He then started to slide to the floor.

Arthur had to grab him, again. For a brief moment, he was horrified for Merlin but he quickly dismissed the thought. He remembered that he had unlocked Merlin’s cell door, himself. However, the dead weight gave Arthur hell. By the time he got Merlin situated in bed with his last clothes removed, Arthur was breathing heavily. He slumped with his head on Merlin’s chest. Suddenly, he realized that it was a good place to start and he took one of Merlin's nipples between his teeth. Grazing and gnawing at it, he moved to the other.

Merlin wouldn’t let himself feel the pleasure. He couldn't. Instead, he thought of Dreslah. He remembered her sitting, moaning and clawing at herself, maddened by the prospect of another day, waiting for death. He flooded his mind with images of his eyes flashing gold upon her like a small laser into her chest amid the self-inflicted scars. He recalled his whispered words that stopped her heart that she would never feel, again. Now, how could he let himself feel pleasure and he struggled to keep from arching his back into the sensations.

Arthur gnawed harder. Their longest battle, yet, Merlin struggled not to feel while Arthur struggled to make him feel. Despite his efforts, Arthur sensed that he was losing the battle. He shifted in bed, went lower and griped Merlin by his hips. Using teeth and tongue from sternum to abdomen, he approached Merlin’s twitching manhood. He had never taken a man into his mouth before but he realized the difficult battle he now waged. Without hesitation, Arthur enveloped him.

Merlin was suddenly losing the battle. He thought to flash gold his eyes in a desperate effort to make Arthur too tired, fall asleep, gag, something, but he was too terrified to risk his magic, now. Not with Arthur facing him. He fought with willpower alone.

Arthur felt him growing, substantially, and knew that he was finally winning. He increased his attack with long and rapid pulls. Merlin was on the verge when suddenly he managed to roll from Arthur’s hold on his hips. He balled to cover his throbbing manhood from Arthur's ravenous attack while shaking his head and mumbling, “It’s not fair, it’s not fair…”

“What’s not fair,” Arthur pleaded, hoping that he was ready to unburden his mind. “Please, Merlin, what’s not fair?”

When Merlin fell silent again, Arthur angrily said, “Well hell, the world is not fair,” and he grabbed his oil vial from his bedside drawer. Quickly lubricating himself with one hand, he pushed against Merlin’s back and then lay heavily atop him, using his own weight to force him on his stomach. Cautions with gentle pushes, he started stretching him.

Merlin felt the pain. Pain! He suddenly used that pain as punishment for his crime. Raising his buttocks, he pushed them forcefully upward. Like a dagger stabbing slowly into his tight and delicate flesh, he impaled himself. He hurt Arthur, too. And confused him. Arthur thought to pull away. Instead, he accepted that pain was at least an emotion for Merlin. He grit his teeth and held himself steady while Merlin lower his hips and raised them a second time.

Both trembling in agony, Arthur braced his forehead against Merlin's shoulder as Merlin gripped the pillows and while crying, punished himself for her death. Again and again, he stabbed himself until, like Dreslah, he settled into a low and constant groan. 

Arthur settled with him. He wrapped his forearm around his chest and pulled him, tilting them partially onto their sides. Holding Merlin securely against his chest, Arthur rocked him with gentle and easy thrusts as if to soothe his stab wounds. With their pains eased and their needs building, he reached lower and took Merlin’s manhood until both shuddered in release. He then resumed, gently rocking him with his knee and pelvis until Merlin drifted to sleep.

Separated by the long cold winter, the dungeons and Merlin's subsequent illness, Arthur felt content to finally comfort him.

*

*

*

Witch’s Cove was just up ahead. An acre or so of flat descending land that abruptly stopped at a moss-covered hill interspersed with budding trees and vines, Merlin had no plans of going there, that afternoon. He intended a simple walk for a bit of fresh air. However, the brilliant sunshine on the clear still day, Uther’s compromise and especially Arthur's comfort had given him the courage.

He first noticed the indentation in the ground as he arrived. A shallow dugout area, the men had obviously searched for dry earth beneath the snow. Merlin suddenly gasped. Inside the shallow pit were half smoldered logs, apparently to wet to burn. Between the logs lay the charred and half-eaten remains of a body. Merlin recognized the remnants of her dress. He wanted to run and hide inside himself, again.

However, debt made Merlin hold his ground. He forced himself to look at her remains and then he started to speak. In a trembling voice, he said, “I know that you can never forgive me. All I can say is that I’m sorry that I put you through such torment. Maybe this is consolation only for me but other innocent people of magic might now be saved because of you. I hope that I’ll be worthy of the opportunity that your suffering has given me. I’m so sorry…”

Wind, rustling the branches and vines caused him to look toward the moss-covered hill. He saw an image, there. A girl. She had sparkling corn-silk hair and bright blue eyes. In a clean white gown, she seemed float. She appeared for only a moment and the image was gone, dispersed, by a gentle wind. Merlin suddenly gasped, again, to hear her soft words, "Be happy for me, Merlin. Thank you," whispered in the breeze. 

**Author's Note:**

> "Be happy for me, Merlin. Thank you... for trying to save my life, and when you couldn't, thank you for having the courage to end it, mercifully."


End file.
